


If I Could Never Give You Peace

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Series: The Mandalorian [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, Mando'a lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:56:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: Every morning when he woke, it was the child who gripped Din's attention. Not the next bounty, not the stores or his injuries. But a small hand, three tiny claws gripping the hem of Din's tunic and warbling happily with half-closed eyes.Din reached closer, pulling the child under the wrap of his cape. Space was cold, he reasoned to himself as he closed his eyes. And the child was so small, and Maker knows where he was before Din found him. Whoever he was, and whatever he was, Din was his father, and he loved the child with all of his heart.
Series: The Mandalorian [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088117
Comments: 10
Kudos: 147





	If I Could Never Give You Peace

In the beginning, Din attempted to parent the child with a displaced but not unkind efficiency. His clan,while possessing many favourable attributes, was not an affectionate one. And while Din was clothed, fed and nurtured as a foundling, he was never loved, never loved by his people as he had been by his birth parents. What little he could recall of their existence was fleeting. Nothing more than dots of memory. 

He remembered glimpses, (his father's boots, the texture of his mother's headscarf). Smells (spicy soup, dust swirling through the air, meat roasting, spitting, burning his hands as he tried to touch). He could remember the warmth of the binary suns on his home planet, the feeling of stones in his boots, the piercing wail of blaster fire in his ears. He remembered the blood, later, after his parents' deaths. He remembered feeling the blood in his ears, in his nose. He smelt nothing but cinders and ash as he clung desperately to the Mandalorian who had saved him.

But this, this was different. This was a child who depended on him for _everything,_ a child who was always in his thoughts. And who was he to be a _buir?_ He had no parenting skills, no help from his tribe now that the covert in Nevarro had been scattered. Every morning when he woke, it was the child who gripped Din's attention. Not the next bounty, not the stores or his injuries. But a small hand, three tiny claws gripping the hem of Din's tunic and warbling happily with half-closed eyes. The hammock Din had made for the child remained unused, hanging burlap pieces from his old flight suit hanging gently from the ceiling as the child cuddled closer to Din's side. Before his eyes were fully open, Din reached closer, pulling the child under the wrap of his cape. Space was cold, he reasoned to himself as he closed his eyes. And the child was so small, and Maker knows where he was before Din found him. Whoever he was, and whatever he was, Din was his father _,_ and he loved the child with all of his heart.

But the child wasn't a client, nor was he a bounty. He was an infant, and Din smiled beneath his helm as he reached for the baby, who reached for him in turn. 

It was more than that, and maybe the kid deserved someone _better_. Someone who knew what a green baby ate, when it slept, what it did with its time, but Din was all that he had. He wished he could do better by the child; a bounty hunter was no _buir;_ there was nothing for the child if he was injured or killed in his line of work. What would become of the child then?

Such thoughts swirled through his mind late at night while the child slept by his side. Who was he to be a father to a child such as he? Ahsoka told him the ways of the force, the power the child held. Din was a Mandalorian; the Jedi were their ancestral enemies.

 _And one day, you'll have to leave him behind,_ Din reminded himself with a pain. _One day, you'll find a Jedi to train him, and you'll go and won't look back. You will because you have to. The child deserves more than what you have to offer._

But it all seemed so far away. Perhaps he'd never find a Jedi; Ahsoka had said that there weren't many left. Maybe he'd be the child's _buir_ forever, and he would be Din's _ad'ika,_ and they'd be a clan together. Perhaps that day of separation would never come; maybe he'd never have to leave him behind. It was foolish to think that way, Din reminded himself, closing his eyes. The child was never going to be his forever.

But it was if he hadn't conceptualized it, the eventuality of his quest. The child was warm and safe in Din's arms, he was present, and the future had yet to come. But Din loved the baby as his own, and time had been kind to their family of two.

Din knew that he was foolish to try (the kid couldn't even speak, Maker knows if he understood a word of what Din said, mumbling to the child day and night), but he began to teach the child Mando'a. Little words and phrases repeated afterwards in Basic. Cup, he said, pointing to the metal cup in the child's tiny claws. _Gai'ka,_ he said softly, wiping spilled water off of the child's jumper. The baby cooed, warbling softly at Din as he looked down at the cup in his hand before meeting Din's eye with a giggle, reaching for the bottom of his helmet, his meal abandoned.

"No," Din remembered saying, prying the child's claws off gently before pointing to the plate in front of him. Din had carefully cut the veg-meat into small pieces, aware and amused by his tenacity when the child ate live amphibians without trouble. "C'mon kid, time to eat. Don't play with your food,"

"Uh?" the child exclaimed, pulling a piece of parchment bread from the plate into his hand, examining it closely.

"Yes, time to _eat_ ," Din enunciated, his own plate sitting empty beside him. "Eat the _haashun, Ad'ika,"_

Din wished that he had something better to offer the child, but all he had left in the stores were stale rations. Better than starvation, and Din had never thought twice about flavour, opting for efficiency over all else when partaking himself. But something ate away at Din's heart as the child picked at his food. He knew that it wasn't pleasant, but it was food. It would give the child strength, and Din didn't know enough about the child's species to understand when he needed to eat or how much. There was so much that Din didn't know.

He had taken to lifting his helm to eat in front of the kid, and he knew that the baby was likely to be more cooperative if he could see Din's face. When they were alone, Din fought past his discomfort. The baby deserved to know who his father was, what he looked like.

The child considered the plate in front of him, dipping his claw into his cup before tipping it, spilling water all over himself. He looked confused in the sudden wetness that had overtaken him and looked up with shock and surprise.

Din sighed and reached over the table to pick up the child. He removed his gloves and dabbed the child's jumpsuit with the edge of his cape before settling him into his arms.

"Will you eat if I hold you?" Din asked, maneuvering the child so they could see one another. The child made an inquisitive noise and took hold of Din's tunic, his claws curled close. Din reached across the table again, fighting a smile as the child gurgled happily in his ear, and took hold of the plate, spinning it, so the veg-meat faced him.

Din spooned a piece onto a fork and held it up to the child in offering. "Eat your dinner,"

To Din's surprise, the child opened his mouth and accepted the mouthful without complaint, chewing before opening his mouth for more. Din broke off a piece of bread, lifting it part of the way to the child's mouth, smiling as the child took hold and started chewing.

Under the table, Din kicked off his boots and relaxed into his seat. The child was eating; the ship was in one piece. He had evaded the child's hunters long enough that Din felt himself relaxing into a routine with the kid. He had formed an attachment, and as ill-equipped for fatherhood as Din thought he was, the kid was alive and healthy. He was cared for and attended to, _Maker,_ the child was a _child_ , and Din loved him deeply.

"Bo—" the baby murmured, and Din smiled, not thinking much of it. The child had become much more vocal over the past few months, and Din imagined it to be a good thing. A sign that the child was becoming more comfortable with him.

Din waited, his spoon resting on the plate. He wasn't sure if the child would speak again, but when he had the space and time to accommodate Grogu's learning, he took it.

"Boo… boo," the child continued, looking up to Din with a smile. "Boo.. burrrr," the child said, giggling as his last attempt ended in a slobbery raspberry.

Din wiped the baby's mouth with the back of his sleeve and grinned himself. The baby laughed again and turned around in Din's arms, resting back against his palms with a slobbery giggle. _He knew that I would catch him,_ Din marvelled. _He didn't have to look; he knew that he could trust me._

"Brr?" Din repeated, his lips quirking into a smile as the child looked up with wide eyes. _Stars,_ his jumper was soaked. "Are you cold?" 

Grogu creased his eyebrows, his gaze settled on Din's chest as he concentrated. It must be frustrating to not be able to communicate, Din thought, looking down at the child with affection. He might be fifty-one, but if he could live centuries, he might be a toddler for the rest of Din's lifetime. The thought both saddened and distressed him, but he couldn't shake it from his mind.

"Buuuiii," the child said, his face scrunched up as he tried to enunciate. "Burrrr, _buir!"_

Din's heart ran to a shuddering stop. " _Buir?"_

The baby looked up at him and grinned toothily, leaning forward so that he rested on Din's chest. " _Buir! Buir!"_

"Do you understand me?" Din asked, his mind racing. "Do you understand what I'm saying, _Ad'ika?"_

The baby looked up at him and quirked an ear, his claws digging into Din's tunic. Din's eyes widened as the baby gummed at the mythosaur pendant around his neck.

"Yes, I'm your _buir,"_ Din said, a burst of joy blooming in his chest. He spoke to the baby often but didn't think much of it. How often had Din referred to himself as the child's father in Mando'a? It had been purposeful, both for Din to conceptualize his role as the child's _buir,_ but also so the baby could hear the Mandalorians' language. Ahsoka had told him that the baby could understand him, but how? He couldn't speak outwardly; he had never heard more than sounds and exclamations from the child.

Din pulled the baby onto his lap. "That's right, _Ad'ika,"_ he said, turning the baby so they could face one another. The baby's eyes were wide and attentive, waiting for Din to finish. "I'm your father, Grogu,"

Din felt a tear slip down his cheek and looked down, unused to others able to see an outward display of emotion. Din felt the baby shift, and then warm hands cup his chin. Grogu's eyes were close to his own, and Din sniffed, his hands firm on the child's little body.

Din felt a rush of warmth flow through his body, and it was as if his pain was lifted, leaving the joy and contentment behind. The baby's eyes had closed, and his forehead dipped and rested against Din's. _Family,_ Din thought, smiling as another tear slipped down his cheek. _His child had claimed him as his own._

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of Peace by Taylor Swift


End file.
